


Two Goths in a Shop

by HapSky



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Nagamas 2019, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:22:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22480225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HapSky/pseuds/HapSky
Summary: Caspar wants to ask Ashe out for a date, Dedue helps avoiding a major misunderstanding and Linhardt steals a muffin. Ashe just had a very long day, but all is well that ends well, isn't it?
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert & Dedue Molinaro, Caspar von Bergliez & Linhardt von Hevring, Caspar von Bergliez/Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57





	1. Two Goths in a Flower Shop

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Nagamas Gift Exchange 2019, as a present for [Megane](https://twitter.com/KiotheMegane)!
> 
> My apologies for posting so very late, I hope you'll enjoy your gift regardless ;__;
> 
> Prompt: Ashe/Caspar; Flowershop/Coffeshop AU; Fluff, Slice of Life, Comedy

Dedue’s morning starts with two goths in his shop. Pastel goths, to be precise. One with long green hair draping over his black overcoat, the other with short and spiky cyan coloured hair matching his overall spikey aesthetic. One very relaxed, one very much not relaxed. Dedue watches them out of the corner of his eye, arranging a little bouquet of roses. They’ve been lingering around the carnations for a while now.

“Just pick any of them. They’re all pretty enough,” the green one says, muffling a yawn. Dedue feels warm hearing the words of praise for his flowers.

“Lin,” the other one grimaces. “I can’t just pick _any_ of them! Gotta be perfect. He knows his shit, y’know.”

“Then ask the shopkeeper. It’s not that hard,” the green one, Lin apparently, says and trudges over towards the counter. Dedue puts the roses aside.

The spikey one refuses and clutches his friend’s arm. “But Lin! Then I didn’t do the choosing!”

“Caspar,” he speaks, annoyed, but Dedue catches the underlying nuance of endless patience only a long lasting friendship brings with it. “You want to accidentally tell him ‘fuck off’ instead of ‘fuck me’?” Caspar colours red, and Dedue can’t but notice it goes along well with his hair colour. Curse the habits drilled into him by his job, as handy as they might be at times.

“May I suggest,” Dedue speaks up, then, with the tiniest of smiles on his lips, “you choose the flowers you wish to gift, and I will sort out any with a potentially misleading meaning?” The two goths look at him, one grateful, one pained.

“Ugh! ...fine,” Caspar grumbles and goes back to the carnations, plucking out one that’s striped red and yellow. Dedue tries not to flinch—that one would have to go back, sadly.

“Sooo…” Lin sighs and leans on the counter. “I’m Linhardt. Nice to meet you. Sorry to bother you. That’s Caspar, he’ll take a while.”

Dedue nods and brushes some loose petals into his palm. A fruitless attempt at tidying his workspace, but at least it gives his hands something to do, and his eyes something to look at other than Linhardt. “No bother at all. Please take your time.” Linhardt gazes at him for a bit, then turns his head with a huff to watch his friend. Caspar meanwhile had gathered a yellow and an orange lily into his bundle of carnations. Dedue does flinch this time.

“He has the intention of gifting flowers to someone, in the hopes to…?” Dedue asks Linhardt. Just to make sure.

Linhardt shrugs. “Get laid, probably. Though he is way too romantic to ask for anything more than a smile and to take the poor boy out to dinner. He tried to learn how to cook for two weeks now. Emphasis on _tried._ ” Dedue nods at that.

“Does said person know his way around flower language?” Dedue, again, asks just to make sure he does not get anything wrong. It would be very unbecoming of him, as a florist and helpless romantic himself, to spoil someone’s advances due to a simple misunderstanding.

“He does, worked at a flower shop for some time, or so he told Caspar. Now he works at a coffee shop a couple streets over,” Linhardt says and gives Dedue more information with that sentence than he’s probably aware. “Knows how to cook as well. Doesn’t stop Caspar from trying, though,” he yawns again. “Stubborn idiot wants to impress him. But why pick the two things the guy is good at? He should’ve just taken Her Majesty and dumped her in his face. Find out if he’s allergic that way, too.”

“Her Majesty?”

“Our cat. Her Majesty, the Empurress of the Fluffy Dust Ball Colony Beneath the Couch.”

“...it probably would have been a better idea than the flowers, yes.” If Dedue’s hunch is right at least, and the barista Linhardt spoke of is who he thinks it is. And well, also because Caspar added a dark crimson rose to his collection. Dedue cannot watch any longer.

“My apologies,” he starts carefully. Caspar turns around, deep concentration on his face now laced with worry. Dedue walks over and gently removes the crimson rose from the other’s grasp, mumbling, “For mourning.”

Caspar looks at the rose, confused. “Oh…” But aren’t red roses… aren’t they used to declare your love?

Then Dedue proceeds to put back the lilies, commenting, “Orange lilies for hatred, yellow ones can mean ‘I am gay’, among other things.”

“But I _am_ gay…?” Caspar babbles. “And yellow is cool?” Though he can understand why the orange lily is a no-go.

“Yes,” Dedue says patiently. “But you are not trying to reject a lady with your bouquet.”

At that, Caspar once again mumbles, “Oh… okay…” Well. Dedue is right. He doesn’t exactly need a flower to declare his sexual orientation when he’s giving the flowers to another guy, while being a guy. He purses his lips and stares at the carnations. The look he gives Dedue is hopeful yet asking for help at the same time. Maybe he gets to at least keep the two-coloured frilly ones?

But no, Dedue puts the striped carnations back as well. “Striped stands for refusal, yellow for disappointment.”

Now Caspar looks sad, with his empty hands and all the cool yellow, orange and red flowers back in their respective vases and buckets. “I’m not very good at this,” he says defeated.

“You’re not very good at cooking either,” Linhardt adds from his place at the counter. “Just take the cat. He likes cats.”

“I don’t want him to like my cat, I want him to like _me_ , Lin!” Caspar whines. He seems to brood over something, then, stroking over petals deep in thought.

“Gifting flowers is easier when the person they are for is not as well versed in their meaning, when they can simply appreciate their appearance and fragrance. Allow me to help you,” Dedue asks politely, and after Caspar muttered his agreement he starts collecting flowers. “One or two as the main attraction,” he explains while picking up a light purple chrysanthemum. “This one can stand for friendship.” And all relationships should be based on friendship, in Dedue’s opinion.

Next, he gathers pink carnations and white daisies around the chrysanthemum. “Smaller ones to frame and accentuate the big flower. These ones together express loyal adoration.”

It is Dedue’s task to try and interpret what his customers might want to express, and to translate it into a bouquet. He’s been told he’s not very good at expressing emotions himself sometimes, but he’s also been told he can interpret other people’s emotions exceptionally well. This seems to be the case once more, as Caspar nods approvingly, and his frown slowly turns up in a grin again.

“Lastly,” Dedue says and goes back to the counter, “some fern or other leaves or greenery to go around the flowers and frame them,” he hums quietly as he binds the stems together, content with how the small bouquet turned out. Ashe will like it. But as his former coworker and current roommate, Dedue knows what else Ashe will surely love to receive. “Just a moment,” he asks of Caspar and Linhardt, and retreats to the back of the shop.

Caspar gently prods at the bouquet. “Pink and purple aren’t so bad.” Though he isn’t quite sure if he’ll ever attempt to pick out flowers for anyone again any time soon.

“It’s just flowers. They’ll wilt eventually,” Linhardt tries to soothe his friend. He meant to say it’s not a decision resulting in irreversible consequences if made poorly. He can always gift other flowers next time. But Caspar just looks sad once more.

“Potted plants do not wilt if taken care of properly,” Dedue says as he returns with a small potted violet in his hand. Caspar perks up and examines the plain looking thing. Not the most outstanding one, but it seems to be healthy.

“Oh, you could put it into the cute pot from outside,” Linhards remarks, and with that Caspar is back to his former high spirits. He rushes outside, the pot he brings back holds a cactus and is shaped like a grumpy looking cat in a frog costume. Dedue hints a smile at the choice, swaps the plants, carefully wraps everything in tissue paper and hands the bouquet and the violet to Caspar. He takes them happily, and fumbles to get his wallet.

“I hope all goes well,” Dedue says as he hands out the change. “Please do not hesitate to come again, should you require advice regarding flower language or plants in general.”

“Sure thing!” Caspar calls, hugging the gifts close and leaving the store with Linhardt in tow. He has a warm, excited smile on his face. “Thanks for your help!”


	2. Two Goths in a Coffee Shop

Ashe’s evening starts with coffee, as did his morning. The difference in coffee is, however, not to be dismissed. One was hot, the other not. One had been drunk normally as coffee tends to be, the other… not. Unfortunately the cold coffee Ashe had this morning does nothing for his very tired state now, and the hot coffee Ashe is currently trying to ignore soaking through his work apron and pants does its absolute best to make the last minutes of his shift unbearably exhaustive.

“I’m so sorry,” sobs the equally tired student who had dropped her cup. She’s fussing around with napkins, but it’s not very helpful.

Ashe takes a step back and shakes his head. “It’s alright!” He quickly picks up the cup, throws it in the bin behind the counter and grabs the nearest rag to wipe up the spilled liquid. “It’s okay,” he insists again and shoos the girl over to take a seat. He’s quick at cleaning, routine honing his movements to be fast and efficient. In no time, he approaches her with another cup of her order.

“Please do not worry about it,” he says and gives her the coffee. “It happens.” The girl, too tired to argue, takes the offered cup. Ashe is glad she doesn’t drop it again. He has sympathy for her, but at the same time, he also just has as much patience after a long day. He wouldn’t wave her goodbye with a smile like he does now, had he bathed in a second wave of the hot beverage.

He looks down at himself. Then, he shrugs and sighs. His apron needed to be washed anyway, and his shift is almost over. No use to change now, he supposes. So he goes about cleaning up the store for closing, when he notices two figures lurking outside the shop.

He tries to pay them no heed. He didn’t switch the sign to ‘closed’ yet, but most people were decent enough not to enter when, technically, judging from the opening hours, they were already closed. Some people weren’t as kind though. Some people came in two minutes to six.

Some people turn out to be two goths, Ashe notices when he glances up to greet his hopefully last customers of the day with an admittedly forced smile. Two very familiar pastel goths, to be precise. One with long green hair draping over his black overcoat, the other with short and spiky cyan coloured hair. One very relaxed, one very much not relaxed. Ashe puts down the tray of baked goods he was about to store away in the kitchen.

“Hi?” Ashe mutters, confused why his newfound friends would show up so late, when they knew he’d be closing up around this time today. Linhardt had asked his schedule just yesterday, they couldn’t have forgotten already. Not that he doesn’t like seeing them stop by! It’s just… two minutes to six after a long day.

“You’re making a fuss,” Linhardt groans, ignoring Ashe in favour of slumping against the counter and stealing an apple cinnamon muffin. He tears into it, his delicate fingers showing no mercy for the soft and fluffy pastry. “Just do it, Caspar. You’re a ‘doing’ person and not a ‘dwelling’ person. So why dwell on it.”

Caspar huffs, upset. But he does not answer. He prefers to stare at the ground.

“Uhm…?” Ashe tries to get their attention, in vain. He isn’t the type to solve quarrels between friends, he rather gets not caught in the crossfire. However, he’s still wearing his work apron soaked through with now cold coffee, and his work attitude drilled into him by endless shifts of customer service makes him ask, “Can I help…?”

“Lovely muffins, my dear. May I suggest packing them up and bringing them over?”

“Lin!” Caspar seethes. Why does it have to look so easy, when it is so hard for him?

Linhardt stares at Caspar when he says, his voice monotone with boredom, “We even got a cat.” He pushes the last remnants of the muffin in his mouth, pulls out enough money to cover the costs for it plus the whole rest of the tray and pushes it towards Ashe. Then he leaves with a yawn.

Silence is awkward between Caspar and him, Ashe finds, especially since he doesn’t quite get what this was about. “You okay?”

“I’m… fine,” Caspar relents with a sigh, deflating a little when letting out the breath he’d been holding. He isn’t good at picking flowers, not good at cooking, not good at asking people he likes out on a date. He knows, yet it is frustrating nonetheless.

Well, he thinks as he moves the hand from behind his back forwards, at least he doesn’t have to worry about fucking this up anymore. Linhardt had successfully ruined his ideal version of how this scenario could have played out. Maybe, he thinks, then—maybe that was Linhardt’s plan all along. Help him not stress over it too much. He nervously picks at the tissue paper. They’re just flowers, he’d said. Caspar smiles shakily and holds up the bouquet. Linhardt is right, most of the time, anyway.

“Come home with me?”

And it’s been a long day, for Ashe. He takes a moment to just look at Caspar, full of anxious energy yet hope glistening in his eyes. Ashe frowns, he doesn’t like seeing people tear up. Then he watches as his hands slowly reach for the flowers, and his frown washes away with surprise, followed by a smirk and a chuckle.

“You got me flowers, from Dedue’s shop,” he says and it’s not a question. He’s worked with Dedue long enough to recognise his work. A little shy using sharp contrasts in colours, always careful with his wrapping. Dedue creates small bouquets, simple ones, full of tenderness. They don’t impress much in appearance, but they touch the heart.

Caspar shrugs, wrings his hands together. “Sure did,” he mumbles and glances towards Ashe. He seems happy. The coy smile tugging at Ashe’s lips suits him, he thinks. Was well worth getting the bouquet. “You know the guy?” Ashe laughs at that, open and with a hint of pink on his cheeks. Yeah, pink and purple aren’t so bad.

“I hope so, I live with him,” he smirks and looks at Caspar with warmth in his eyes. “Besides, the flower shop I mentioned I had worked at? Well, it’s his now,” he explains, “Dimitri has bought it for him, because working there has been… good for Dedue. And,” he laughs again, “I got enough money from that to get a professional education as barista and chef. Was good for all of us, in the end.”

“You owned it?” Caspar asks, suddenly very nervous. Ashe had not only _worked_ at a flower shop, he had been the _owner_. Caspar is pretty sure, as owner, one absolutely must know everything there is to know about flowers. And their meaning, when gifted.

Ashe nods, then shrugs. Looks at the flowers in his hands with melancholy. Somber, but also content. “I just got lucky. Life is weird sometimes, but not always bad.”

Caspat either doesn’t pick up on the shift of atmosphere, or he is way too occupied in brooding over a predicament of his that Ashe doesn’t know of. “Sorry,” he says regardless, “didn’t mean to get so serious.” He walks around the counter, all at once very nervous and shy as well. “Thanks for the flowers,” he whispers. “I’d like to, uh. To be with you, too.”

Caspar looks up then, going from staring at the ground to staring at Ashe’s exhausted but happy expression. He leans in to kiss Ashe.

But he stops. Still staring into Ashe’s green eyes, he blushes—a small whimper leaves him before he spins around, burying his face in his hands and muffling the unintelligible gibberish flooding out of his mouth. He storms outside, Ashe’s laugh filling the empty shop as he flees.

“You’re making a fuss,” Linhardt comments again, leaning against the wall next to the coffee shop’s entrance.

Caspar scowls at him, his face still burns. “I just… like him, a lot, okay?” Caspar grumbles, but leans against the wall next to Linhardt. “Not my fault he’s cute,” he says and winces, “and definitely not my fault you're better at this than I am. Remind me why I even brought you along, again?”

“Emotional support,” Linhardt retorts without missing a beat. He huffs, purses his lips and crosses his arms. He pouts, Caspar realises. Linhardt pouts. It makes him grin, just a little.

“Lin,” Caspar says and nudges the other with his shoulder.

“Caspar,” Linhardt sighs and pushes Caspar away. “Go get your date.”

And so, Caspar does. On their way home they chatter about everything and anything. Ashe carries his bouquet with a smile, Linhardt carries the leftover pastries, also with a smile. They stop at Ashe’s place for a bit, so he can shower off the smell of coffee and kitchen grease, and change into a more comfy set of clothes than his work attire. It’s all in all, a very pleasant evening so far. But Caspar is restless. There’s still the potted violet he wants to gift, back in his room, safely stored away so Her Majesty won’t be able to eat it in his absence. Caspar wants to leave, but…

“We can’t leave like this,” Caspar says, careful not to wake Linhardt, who—upon seeing the very big, very soft couch—had curled up between pillows and blankets. He’s fast asleep now. Taking up all the space for himself. Ashe and Caspar both sit on the floor, a fluffy carpet making it rather pleasant, but he’s sure the couch would still have been more pleasant to sit on.

Ashe leans against Caspar, carefully avoiding the spikes of his choker, and suddenly Caspar doesn’t mind the floor anymore. “We can spend the evening here?” Ashe asks. He’s warm and clean from the shower, and feels very comfortable. He doesn’t really want to go outside again today, but he also doesn’t want to turn Caspar’s invitation down. “I got a day off, the day after tomorrow? And Dedue will cook dinner later, when he’s back from grocery shopping.”

“He’s good at cooking?” Caspar asks and Ashe hums in agreement. “I’m not… not really good at cooking,” Caspar admits in a whisper. Maybe it’s for the better, that this whole day has turned out to be not quite as he had imagined he’d like it to turn out.

“That’s okay,” Ashe says and means it. “I’m… scared of the dark.”

“Ha!” Caspar exclaims, maybe a little too loudly but their friend on the couch doesn’t stir. “I ain’t scared of nothing! …though Lin says it’s just me being stupid reckless.” And Linhardt is right, most of the time, sadly.

However, it makes Ashe chuckle, and really—he doesn’t need to be the best at everything, if simply being himself can make others happy. “So… the day after tomorrow? We dump Lin on your couch and have the place to ourselves? I got another gift I want to give you. And I have to introduce you to Her Majesty!” He doesn’t need to do everything perfect from the get go, he thinks as he leans into Ashe as well. It’s just flowers, just one evening. He can gift many more.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading ( ´ ◡ ` )


End file.
